


Willing Victim

by vilia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, M/M, Talk of euthanasia, Unsafe Sex, past suicide attempts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vilia/pseuds/vilia
Summary: For as long as he can remember, Arthur has had a fascination with death, with the process of dying. Somewhere along the way, the idea took root that if he could see it first hand, if he could control it, everything would finally make sense. Terrified of hurting an innocent person, he seeks out a willing victim.  Enter Merlin, a confused and desperate man, looking for someone to end his pain.





	1. Volunteer

**Author's Note:**

> You read the tags, right? Because you should definitely do that before proceeding.

Arthur sits on the molded plastic chair next to the hospital bed as Mr. Robertson struggles to breathe. The man is 67 years old, has been smoking since he was 15, and now has Stage 4 lung cancer. He’s going to die. It’s just a matter of time. Arthur’s afraid it will be soon, while he’s still sitting here watching. He _hopes_ it will be while he’s still sitting here watching. That’s what scares him, the hoping.

For as long as he can remember, he’s been fascinated with death, with the process of dying. It was just a small thing when he was a kid, but it has only grown with time. It’s become a problem, because somewhere along the way, the idea took root that if he could just control it—control death—everything would finally make sense. And that scares him too. He’s not supposed to be like this. This feeling… he wants it gone. It’s ruining his life.

Two years ago, he had to break up with his longtime girlfriend, Gwen. She’d smiled when she caught him staring at her neck, likely assuming he was wanting to kiss her. The truth was that he’d been thinking about wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing. That was when he ending things. He hasn’t been with anyone since.

He needs proper help, a doctor or psychiatrist, but how could he possibly admit to the kinds of fantasies that run through his head? The older he gets, the more convinced he’s become that one day, he’s not going to be able to resist anymore. He’s going to act. He’s going to kill someone, make himself into the monster he’s feared for so long.

Mr. Robertson lets out a gurgling cough, opens his eyes, and looks at Arthur. Arthur’s gaze flutters down to the watch on his wrist. He’d signed up to volunteer at the hospital at the request of one of his few remaining friends. Lance is too good a person to hold Arthur’s increasingly distant behaviour against him. Everyone else treats him like he’s being an arse. They don’t realize he’s pulling away to keep them safe.

Lance probably assumes that he’s depressed—the man had given Arthur a big speech about the dangers of social isolation when he quit his old job so that he could work from home—and that volunteering will do him some good. Arthur wouldn’t have said yes if he’d realized he would be placed in the palliative care ward to keep company with the lonely dying. When Lance first suggested it, he’d mentioned something about helping sick kids with crafts. Arthur would have been fine with that; he’d never felt like he might be a danger to children.

Mr. Robertson squints his eyes, gives a pained moan, and presses his head back into his pillow. “If those doctors had any real compassion, they’d have helped me out of this mess weeks ago.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, doesn’t dare move from his chair. He clenches his fists tight and doesn’t let up, not even when the dull edges of his fingernails pierce the skin on his palms.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was doing research for a different story, I stumbled upon a Wikipedia article about consensual homicide. I was trying to wrap my head around the strangest cases discussed in the article (an impossible task) when the plot bunny for this hit me. At first, I just jotted down enough notes to get it out of my head so I could go back to work on my other stories. Then real life struck and I was in a rather dark mood for a while, so I worked on this to avoid letting my gloom seep into my other works. 
> 
> I know some of you are waiting for the next chapter of From the Shadow of Glory, but this is pretty short (the whole thing is about half to a third the length of one chapter of Glory) and I just wanted to get it out here so I could stop thinking about it.


	2. The Right Candidate

There are online forums for every sort of twisted fantasy and fetish. Arthur’s trawled through enough of them to know. They come in a wide range, from the harmless, to the dark, to the downright strange. And then there are the seriously disturbed: the wannabe cannibals and their perfect matches, those that fantasize about being eaten alive.

Arthur is looking through the forums again in the wake of his experience at the hospital. He’d managed to restrain himself from doing anything to Mr. Robertson, but now, he’s wondering if it wouldn’t have been better for everyone if he’d just helped the man along.

No one would have questioned the death. There would have been no autopsy, no police investigation. He could have got this sickness out of him in one easy go, continued on with his life. He shakes his head and clicks on anther link, knowing it wouldn’t have been so simple. What if a nurse had walked in while he was in the middle of it? What if Lance had felt bad for making him witness a death—insisted he talk to a counselor? What if he left bruises or…  No, he’d been right to leave Mr. Robertson alone, but what if there is someone else out there for him? Someone he can help instead of hurt? His perfect match.


	3. The Plan

From the moment Arthur first sees him—sitting with his head bowed, both hands around a full cup of tea that he never drinks—he knows that Merlin is the one. Still, he’s cautious. He doesn’t want to end up in prison for this. Merlin doesn’t want that either.

They meet at the coffee shop briefly. Talk things over in euphemisms and make plans to meet again.

Merlin wants things settled right away. Arthur makes him wait, promises to “help” him in a few months, giving the man plenty of time to change his mind or back out or seek real help if he wants it. They set a date and everything, like they’re planning a wedding instead of a murder—30 September.

During one of their meetings, Arthur asks why Merlin hasn’t killed himself already since he’s so keen on dying.

“I’ve tried,” Merlin says. “It doesn’t do any good. This is why I need you.” He pulls up his sleeves and shows Arthur a horrific display of scars. “I’ve tried it other ways too. I’m not sure how I’m still alive. I don’t deserve to be. Don’t want to be.”

“Why not?” Arthur says, thinking he should make sure the man’s reasoning is sound, make sure he’s in his right mind when making such an important decision.

“I’ve got nothing but pain to live for. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this… massive, gaping hole in my heart. It feels like a mortal wound. Like I’m dying every second, but the end never comes.”

Merlin’s a little strange. He claims he can’t remember his own last name. Arthur thinks he’s lying. He must be, figures Merlin just doesn’t want Arthur contacting his family.

After they’ve known each other long enough to build up some semblance of trust, enough at least to be convinced that Merlin’s not some undercover agent trying to trick him, Arthur invites Merlin back to his flat to lay out the details of what they’re going to do. It’s not the sort of conversation they can have in public.

Arthur’s about to get into it, ready with a list of questions: How do you want to die? What do you want me to do with your body when it’s over? Is it okay if we do it out in the woods so that I don’t have to haul your corpse around the city? He’s not going to word that last question in quite that way, but the essence is the same.

Merlin comes back from excusing himself to the toilet and instead of taking the chair he’d been sitting in before, he straddles Arthur’s lap and starts kissing him. If there were any tiny lingering doubts about Merlin’s authenticity, they’re gone now, because Arthur’s pretty damn confident that a cop wouldn’t be tugging his zipper down so eagerly.

Arthur tenses but can’t force himself to push Merlin away. “What’s this all about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I want to thank you.” 

“Letting me take your life isn’t enough?”

Merlin seems to be able to read his mind. “You don’t need to be afraid. What’s the worst that can happen?” He moves Arthur’s hands up to his throat. “You kill me?” He leans in, whispers in Arthur’s ear, “You’re going to do that anyway.”

It’s not that Merlin’s reasoning convinces him, they have a plan and Arthur means to stick to it, but the part of his brain responsible for logic is shutting down in favor of the more primal instinct that tells him Merlin is a highly compatible partner.

They rearrange themselves, shed the barriers between their skin, and Arthur finds that Merlin’s true purpose in the loo was getting himself open and ready for this.

Merlin says, “I swear I’m clean and I don’t care if you aren’t. I’ll be gone soon anyway.”

Arthur hasn’t had sex in years, not even a one night stand. And this… Maybe it’s because he’s gone so long without. Maybe it’s because he’s never done anything more than kiss with another man. Maybe it’s because he’s never fucked anyone without using a condom before, but this encounter feels better than all the sex he’s had up until now combined.

When they’re both sprawled out on the floor catching their breath, Merlin says, “I’ve decided I like you, Arthur. You’re a good person. I can tell.”

Arthur looks over at him and for the first time ever, sees Merlin smiling. The expression looks good on him and it might have made Arthur happy if not for the fact that the words coming out of his mouth are insane. “You’re a horrible judge of character.”

The most amazing thing happens—Merlin laughs, bright and clear, and maybe if he had more moments like this, he wouldn’t be looking to Arthur for relief.

It might be a bad idea, but Arthur invites Merlin to stay at his flat for the remainder of his time. It’s helpful to have him around. Merlin has no qualms about running errands to the store or going out to pick up the mail. This puts Arthur safely away from strangers so he doesn’t have to resist the increasingly frequent urge to hurt them. He only has Merlin to worry about and being around him is surprisingly easy. Part of that is knowing they have a plan. The other part is how open he can be with Merlin. Arthur can tell him everything he’s kept locked away from the rest of the world. He’s never been able to be so free with anyone in his life before. It’s liberating.

They don’t just talk about death either. They talk about everything, from the random trivialities of day to day life to the big stuff, like religion and politics.

Merlin isn’t terribly impressed with the state of the world. “What we need is a real leader. Someone to show us that we can all do better.” Merlin doesn’t seem optimistic about that ever happening, but then, Merlin isn’t optimistic about much of anything.

“Maybe I’ve been broken for so long that I can’t remember what it’s like to have hope anymore.”

“That sounds… awful.”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you felt this way?”

“My whole life, it feels like. Centuries. Millennia.”

Arthur lets out a mirthless laugh.

“I was in this hospital once. They tried to fix me. Forced me to undergo some sort of strange shock therapy.”

“What? That’s illegal. Nobody does that anymore.”

“The place I was did. I think they broke whatever was left inside me. I think that’s why I have problems with my memory.”

“I haven’t noticed any problem with your memory.”

“Yeah. The past few years are fine, but I can’t remember my childhood at all and the long stretch in between is a jumbled blur.”

“Oh.” For the first time, Arthur considers that maybe Merlin wasn’t lying after all about not being able to remember his last name. “Someone could be looking for you.”

“No. I’m sure not. You’re the only one I have.”

“Maybe I should take you to a doctor. I have this friend, Lance—”

Merlin gives him another of his rare smiles.

“What?”

“I told you that you are a good person.”

“So you’ll go?”

Merlin shakes his head. “There’s nothing he can do for me. He can’t help you either, but I can. I’m going to heal you, take away this darkness you feel in your heart, give you your life back. The moment we finish what we’re going to do, those feelings you hate so much will be gone. It’ll be that easy.”

“How can you know? What if it goes wrong and it gets worse instead?”

“It won’t. You just have to trust me. My memory may have problems, but some things, things like this, I’m good at.”

And somehow the words do manage to reassure him. He’s left with only one thing to worry about, but that worry is growing stronger every day because he’s never felt so in tune with another person and following through with their plan might be the biggest mistake of his life.


	4. 30 September

Time slips away. Before Arthur knows it, the thirtieth of September is here, and he’s not feeling like he thought he would. When they first met in person, Arthur’d never suspected that he might be the one wanting to back out at the last minute.

He tells Merlin, says, “I’m not so sure about this anymore.”

Merlin takes it in stride. “Why don’t we just go out to the site you picked anyway? You don’t have to go through with it once we’re there.”

Against his better judgement, Arthur agrees and drives them out of the city to a piece of land owned by one of his uncles. It’s a large parcel with a beautiful lake surrounded on all sides by acres of woods. He used to play here as a child.

Arthur parks the car and they walk for half an hour before reaching the lake. Merlin takes a sudden breath when the water comes into view. He stands there, staring out at the little island in the middle of the water, and puts a hand to his heart as if he might drop over dead any second from some unfathomable shock. Maybe the reality of what they’ve been planning is finally catching up with him. Maybe he’s changing his mind, like Arthur.

“Please.” He turns to face Arthur with tear streaked cheeks. “Please do it now. I can’t bear it.”

Arthur looks back to the lake, spins round slowly to take in the woods. There’s nothing particular about this place that should cause such a strong reaction. It’s only his childhood memories that make the place special to him.

Merlin falls to his knees, his face contorting in a horrible grimace as though he’s being torn apart from the inside. This is the pain he’s been trying to tell Arthur about. Arthur hadn’t really understood before.

Merlin repeats the rationalizations he’s given dozens of times already. “I’m perfect for you. No one will look for me. No one will miss me.”

“I will.” He shouldn’t be saying this. “I’ll miss you.” This is his best opportunity and he’s throwing it away.  

“If you don’t do this for me, you’ll only end up killing someone else. You said it yourself. You need to. But who will it be? Someone innocent? Someone who doesn’t deserve it or want it? You’re the only one who brings me any comfort. You’re my salvation, my knight in shining armor.”

Arthur shakes his head. He wants to hold Merlin and kiss him. He wants to run away and keep him safe. He finds himself kneeling instead.

“Here, now put your hands around my neck. Feel the life inside me. I want you to take it. I give it all to you.”

Arthur’s hands twitch tighter. Merlin exhales a breathy, “thank you” and closes his eyes. Arthur doesn’t want to, but his hands do all the work without his say so. They squeeze, first just a little, then more and more until Merlin’s heels are scrapping against the ground and his hands come up to clamp on to Arthur’s forearms. He can’t tell if Merlin is trying to pull Arthur’s hands away from his neck or keep them there, but it doesn’t matter because he can’t stop.

Blood roars in his ears like a sudden blaze of fire fresh from the mouth of hell itself. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch the growing discolouration of Merlin’s face. Everything about this is messy and ugly and he hates it, wants to hate Merlin for making him do it.

He’s crying, he realizes when Merlin’s movements start to lose their strength. He’s crying inside and out and still he can’t stop. He silently begs his hands to let go and when that doesn’t work, he says, “Fight back, Merlin. Please.”

He keeps his hands wrenched tight past when Merlin’s body goes limp, waits until his heart stops. Everything is different then, just as Merlin promised. The overwhelming compulsion to control death is gone, like it had never been there at all. The change is so abrupt, it’s as if a curse has been broken. He’s left with nothing but regret.

“Merlin…” he says, knowing it’s hopeless. “Merlin, don’t go.” He shakes the man’s shoulder, puts trembling fingers against the bruises at his neck, hoping desperately for some glimmer of a pulse. There is none. He reaches for his mobile, ready to call for an ambulance, ready to face whatever consequences come if only someone can fix his mistake, bring Merlin back.

He dials 999, but nothing happens. He checks the screen and sees that he doesn’t have a strong enough signal to complete the call. He throws the phone to the ground, tilts Merlin’s head back, seals their mouths together and slowly blows a breath into his lungs, does it again, watches out of the corner of his eye as Merlin’s chest rises and falls in a parody of life. He puts his hands to Merlin’s chest, starts counting compressions. He knows it’s useless. CPR doesn’t revive a person. It just circulates oxygenated blood around the body giving more advanced help time to arrive. Help Arthur knows isn’t coming.

He keeps at it though, until the sun starts to set and he can’t continue any longer from sheer exhaustion. He can’t even cry anymore. Maybe this is the type of desperation that Merlin had been feeling all along, because suddenly he sees no future for himself. He lays down next to Merlin, puts an arm around his cooling body, wants to lay there together with him until they’re both dust.

It’s full dark when it happens. First, there’s a noise that Arthur thinks he recognizes, but knows can’t be possible. Then there’s movement. He jumps to his feet and lets out a roar, thinking the disturbance is a wild animal come to feast on Merlin’s body. That’s not what is happening. Merlin gulps in another ragged breath, sits up, looks around as if orienting himself. Arthur stumbles backward, trips over his own feet, and falls on his arse.

“Merlin!” He scrambles forward on hands and knees to make sure this isn’t some guilt induced hallucination. Merlin’s body isn’t cold. It’s warm and pleasant and the man is smiling at him in the moonlight, one of those rare, wry smiles that Arthur’s become so fond of in their short acquaintance.

“Well… I’m glad you didn’t bury me,” Merlin says as if this were some ordinary occurrence, as if a miracle hadn’t just occurred. “I always hate it when that happens, bloody difficult to dig your way out of a filled grave, even with magic.”

Arthur ignores the obvious question, too focused on continuing his examination of Merlin’s body, on making sure this is really happening. Merlin doesn’t seem angry, not about anything. Not about Arthur choking the life out of him, not about being alive when just hours ago he’d been begging for an end to it all. He should be angry about one of those two things, Arthur’s sure.

Merlin stills his hands, pulls him down and rests Arthur’s head in his lap, runs his fingers through Arthur’s hair, down the side of his neck, and across his shoulder to massage soothing little circles into his muscles.

“You were dead, Merlin,” he whispers. “I killed you. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t—”

 “Shhh. It’s all right now, I promise. We’re both all right. It’s over and my head is finally clear again.”

Arthur takes in a shallow breath, lets it out in a series of quick puffs.

“Don’t blame yourself. This whole mess is my fault.”

And Merlin proceeds to tell him the most incredible story. One that should be all the evidence needed to prove that they are both out of their minds because there is no such thing as an immortal man and Arthur has never felt like a king, but he wants every word to be true. He makes a conscious decision to believe, lets Merlin continue uninterrupted.

“It had been too long since my heart last restarted. I’d grown… senile I guess you would call it. My body doesn’t age, but my mind… I was confused. Confused and lonely, from the centuries of missing you. I started telling people—anyone who would listen, without discretion—about what little I knew for certain. I told them about you and how you were going to come back someday. People thought I was mad of course and I was forcibly committed. I told you about this part remember?”

“The hospital with the shock therapy.”

“Mmm. It was horrible. They made everything worse—much worse—because not only did the treatments scramble my memories even further, they also slowly cut off my connection to magic. Everything spiraled down from there, but before the link was severed, I tried to cast one last desperate spell.”

“You wanted me to end your suffering.”

“Yes, but I was thinking of my loneliness. I meant to revive you. It’s not the sort of spell that should ever be attempted. It was bound to go wrong and with my hold on magic slipping and my wealth of experience inaccessible, it went wrong in the worst way. Instead of bringing you back to me, the spell became a curse. One that followed your forefathers until it could reach you.”

Merlin’s hand has made its way down Arthur’s arm and there is just enough light to make out smooth, unblemished skin on Merlin’s wrist. His scars, the physical ones at least, are gone. This curse had obviously affected Merlin as well, making it impossible for him to complete the task demanded of Arthur.

Merlin pauses his ministrations. “Can you forgive me?”

Arthur sits up abruptly. “Forgive you?”

“Please?”

He takes Merlin’s face in his hands and kisses him soundly on the mouth, peppers kisses of apology across his jaw and down his neck, presses his lips over Merlin’s beating heart, because curse or no curse, Arthur’s the one that needs forgiveness.

Merlin breathes out a relieved sigh then stifles a yawn. “Defying death is exhausting business. Rest with me a while?”

Arthur curls up on the grass behind him, puts an arm around Merlin’s waist, and pulls them together to remove the space between their bodies. He listens to the pattern of Merlin’s breath, the chorus of frogs down at the water’s edge, the light wind rustling the trees, and when the sun rises in the morning, they walk out of the woods hand in hand. There is still healing left to be done, but the vastness of life awaits, and they are finally ready to begin. ~~~~


End file.
